


The Temple Primeling

by hella_gent



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Minor Character Death, Transformer Sparklings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-06-10 03:29:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6937885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hella_gent/pseuds/hella_gent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhythmic, soothing humming of the clergy. The softly clinking swing of the incense burner. It was the closest thing to a lullaby he could remember.</p><p>Typically Primes are chosen by the senate, but what happens when the matrix makes the choice itself? Orion Pax was a temple born Primeling, risen and born anew during the great war for Cybertron. War is no place for a sparkling, Megatron and many agree; but neither is the primacy</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I did it!! I was contemplating just getting rid of the original, but then nobody would be able to see all the progress I made writing and I like to look back on the comments alot~ 
> 
> But for those new! This is an AU I was inspired to write from a long lost fic I found, where Orion Pax recieves the matrix when he's just a lil kid. I started writing this quite awhile back, and since then I've found a way to get the most out of my writing (i write the rough drafts out in a notebook then edit them while I type them up). I'm not sure how often updates will be, as my school is still a hassle, but this will be getting updates. But golly, that went from about 800 words to nearly 2000

Rhythmic, soothing humming of the clergy. The softly clinking swing of the incense burner. It was the closest thing to a lullaby he could remember.

The great, pearly halls echoed with the quiet taps of the Primeling’s pedes, even as he tried his hardest not to make a sound. There was no helping it; this part of the temple was always barren this time of the cycle.

Well, he supposed, that’s not entirely true. He would still be in his room otherwise, reviewing his etiquette. He already knew it, vorns of studying and reviewing the same material can make it easy to breeze through a lesson. 

But that was the whole reason he was here. The matrix had chosen him; it was his duty now to prepare. While it excited him to no ends knowing he would bear such an amazing and spectacular honor, everything else bored him. Maybe that was why they were always making him so school. No one seemed to think of anything better for him to do as he waited for his final upgrade.

The faint whispers he had heard at the other end of the hall grew to a murmur as he approached. Doing his best not to skid, Orion Pax stopped before he could round the next corner. He peeked his helm over the edge, optics bright with excitement.

“-and they say his following has been growing rapidly since he overtook the arena.” The sisters were exactly where they were every cycle. Very few left the temple, but the groups of blessed sisters left on a regular basis. He’s grown very adept at slipping around since he first heard the whispering of the sisters, even though he never understood what they were talking about. Something, _anything_ outside of studying was a boon for the youngling.

“I hope for his sake he doesn’t go farther than that.” This sister was tall and had a heavy build. Orion always sought her out; she had the most interesting stories, and she always stood out against the frail frames of the other sisters. Her paint was pearly blue, just like the sister beside her and all the others. He missed her bright green paint and how it burned his optics.

“His writings are proof enough that he will.” The other sister held a hand between them as she spoke. All the sisters did that, but he never understood just what it was supposed to do. It never stopped him from hearing what they whispered. She grew distressed as she continued. “He wishes to change Cybertron, to reshape all that our Prime has worked so very hard to achieve. If Megatronus succeeds in addressing the council – or, Primus forbid, the Prime himself! – It would-!” A servo on her shoulder cut her off. Even from all the way across the hall, Orion could see the sparks around her optics.

“May Primus keep him safe, regardless the path he chooses. _Even if it’s a stupid path_ -” The sister stopped her mumbling – _was it? It was a little loud to be mumbling_ – pressing a hand to her helm. Orion ducked back out of sight. She was receiving a comm.

_Someone must have realized I was gone…_

Orion turned and bolted back down the long hall. He faintly heard the sisters’ quiet steps and hoped they wouldn’t catch his retreating veils around the corner. He slowed to a jog as he got closer to his room; perhaps if he just looked like he had stepped out a moment, they wouldn’t think anything of it. He picked up the pace passing the main hall, no doubt they would know he was gone if they caught him in the great archway.

The youngling stopped. This time he did skid and he scrambled to see again.

-What looked like the entire temple staff was gathered in the entrance hall. Unconsciously standing on the tips of his pedes, he could just catch a helm of a mech he’d never seen before. The sisters brushed past him, and Orion followed them into the fray.

The little Primeling ducked between the mass of white and blue pedes, trying to see this new mech more. A bit of a strut here, a strangely pointed pede there. Flashes of shimmering silver. The crowd was started to thicken as he got closer. He faintly registered a tug on his shoulder. He ignored it, didn’t even notice it through his determination, until the servo _yanked_. Orion snapped his helm to the towering priest, already trying to pull away again.

“What do you think you’re doing out here, Primeling?” The priest hissed under his breath, pulling the youngling back. “It is still your study joor.”

“It is always my study hour, please, just let me-”

“Enough of that.” The priest turned him around; it didn’t help him in the least that his field lashed out immediately, burning with frustration and no little bit of envy at the loss of _new_ and _exciting_. “You clearly need more-”

“-must be the one next in line for the primacy, I presume?”

Both snapped their helms to the source of the voice. Orion tore his shoulder from the grip and stepped through the last ring of onlookers.

A giant of a mech stood before him and Orion craned his neck trying to meet his optics. From here he could see the high spikes of his shoulders, utterly foreign among the softly cut frames of the reverend around them. That same sort of style continued throughout the rest of the other’s silver plating. As his gaze swept more eye level, he could see layers of purple beneath the sharp, polished silver.

He was distantly reminded of burning green plating, and he wasn’t sure why.

Then the mech knelt, and he was leveled with a scarred silver faceplate. With all the hard and sharp points of the others frame, Orion thought he should be more frightened than he was. Yet the others optics were soft, a bright, bubbling blue like the energon Zeta had that he never got to taste.

It was then the Primeling realized the entire assembly had fallen silent. With a jolt he realized the other had asked a question. The other’s plating was well kept, so he couldn’t be a very low caste; but he didn’t wear any jewels either, so he wasn’t a very high caste either. His field flared, unsure how to proceed. It blew farther and farther was respectable until it met the fields of the others around them, fields alight with distaste at his blunder.

The mech was patient though, smiling as he tried to control his field and tried to reply accordingly.

“Ah, yes, I was chosen by the matrix to be next.”

“That is quite the honor. How is it that no one has told me of you?”

“Then, how is it that no one told _me_ of _you_?” The youngling pointed to the hulking mech, but quickly returned it to his side when he realized just how rude that looked. It was certainly nothing a Prime would do.

The other didn’t acknowledge it or took no offense. In fact, his smile widened, sharpened dentae glittering. “In that case: I am Megatron, leader of the Decepticons.”

Megatron extended a great hand to him. Orion hesitated, eyeing the fingertips that better resembled knives as he, too, held out his hand. His fingers twitched as he held it away from the sharp fingers, but still tried to maneuver into shaking hands. _How could he…?_

Megatron laughed, a rough, rasping sound, and turned his hand over. He instead offered the smooth metal of his palm, stretching his fingers so as not to harm the youngling.

“And I am Orion Pax.” The youngling gave him his hand, watching it disappear as the other closed over it. The other’s smile became soft again.

“I look forward to your primacy, Orion Pax; may it bless our people.”

Orion Pax _beamed_. He had never had another mech say such a thing before. They always praised Zeta and upon hearing of him told him he “had a lot of work to do”. He did, of course, but _this_ – this made his spark swell, made him actually want to do the vorns and vorns of studying and training he still had left.

“Orion Pax.”

All assembled turned to the deep, gravelly voice of their Prime and felt the energon on their lines freeze; all but one little Primeling. The blue and yellow mech was flanked by his highest priests and priestesses, all looking extremely small compared to his giant bulk. Zeta remained as impassive as the youngling had always seen him as he looked over the scene. Still, Orion pulled away and bound to Zeta’s side, still beaming, pure joy making his faceplates seem to glow.

“Zeta! There is a new mech here!” Orion shielded his words with his servo, just as he had seen the sisters do. He knew it didn’t do anything, but that only made him giggle and his smile widen.

“I can see that.” The stern tone seemed out of place with the bubbling youngling beside him.

Megatron rose to his pedes, the group around him began to hesitantly dispersed. Zeta waved a hand and turned down one of the connecting halls. Megatron followed a few steps behind, as protocol demanded. Unlike everyone else here, his optics weren’t on the exalted Prime before him, instead watching the youngling between them. He was struggling to keep up with his Prime, who was uncaring of him with his long strides. That didn’t stop him, in fact he didn’t even seem to notice in the face of overwhelming joy.

“Isn’t this exciting, Zeta! -”

Zeta grunted, not bothering to look at him.

“I have never met someone from outside the temple! -”

Another grunt.

“How long will he be staying?”

Zeta actually did react this time, stopping and turning the youngling. The two following him stopped. Despite the cold look on his faceplate, Orion continued.

“Will there be special energon tonight for-”

“Of course not.” Orion smile broke. “Don’t you have somewhere to be, something to be studying?”

“Um, sure, I-” Megatron watched the youngling fist his coverings as he struggled to keep eye contact.

“Then run along. With all that insolent _fumbling_ you did, it is a wonder no one has pulled you aside yet. There are more important things for you to be doing than grafting yourself to my heals.” Zeta’s tone turned sour. 

Orion stepped back.

“-to think the Matrix actually _chose_ you; this I will never understand.” Whether this was meant to be said under his breath or not, Megatron couldn’t tell. Zeta’s vocalizer seemed to be set permanently on “booming”.

Orion took another step back, making the silver gladiator step back to save the youngling from hitting his leg. 

Orion Pax dipped into a low bow, mumbled a “yes, my Prime”, and walked past him. He could feel the _shame_ and _discouragement_ bleeding off the little one’s field as he passed, but he kept his face steady and his back straight. Zeta squared his shoulders and his lip plates tilted in a sort of smile.

“Very good.”

Megatron watched him go, even as Zeta turned and continued on his way. He met the sad blue optics as he rounded the corner. Orion paused, offering him a small smile and a wave. He returned the gesture as he finally disappeared out of sight. Off to study some heated slag he already knew, didn’t need to know, _shouldn’t have to know._

The silver mech turned back to the “Prime” before him, burning his back plates with his gaze. He could be patient, but when he finally broke free, Zeta would be the first to fall.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much computer trouble and it was awful cuz I had this ready to be wrapped up and edited for like a month while I couldn't get on!!! It's literally been my baby like all day. And I'm just so proud of myself right now, its so nice~ 
> 
> Also! this chapter we went from about 1300 words to 3600

“Megatron has fallen.”

Orion felt his field slip despite his desperate attempts to hold it. Ever since what the others had deemed “the incident”, it seemed they were drilling him nonstop in field control – something Orion Pax had never been able to do very well.

-Unless Zeta was across from him, that is. The priests never saw it, but he was a perfect Primeling when Zeta grew cross with him… which was increasingly often since “the incident”. Whatever Megatron had said to him, it left him in a foul mood. Though it wasn’t as if he’d ever seen Zeta in a good mood, but anything was easier than _this_.

“You must not allow your field to slip for such a mech.” Each time his field slipped, the pacing priest paused and explained, extending the usual joorly lessons even further. Between this and all his other “joorly” subjects, it’d been cycles since he’d had the chance to slip away.

“Regardless, you are doing fairly well.” The Primeling brought his heals together again and folded in his field like a stray piece of fabric.

“-but before we continue; tell me what is on your mind, youngling. I feel a peculiar _something_ in your field.” He felt his field slip once again, but reeled it in before it could be caught.

“Why wouldn’t I be able to let my field slip if Megatron really did fall? You said before it was expected to let one’s sorrow show at such news when the mech deserved it.” He kept his back strut straight and his optics ahead, but the mech shook his head and chuckled.

“That is just the thing though; Megatron does not. He is a very, _very_ low caste mech. He shouldn’t have been able to even enter the temple, let alone near enough to touch you.”

His instructor shuddered, and he was reminded of another thing. Once Megatron had cleared the temple he’d had the longest bath of his functioning as the sisters tried to clean his hand. He just couldn’t understand the fuss; Megatron had been clean and even polished when he had visited, there was no need to be so… excessive. 

The Primeling turned his servo, watching his tiny digits in a new light. No one had ever done such a thing before. No one had ever been so kind without any reason to, even if it had been drenched and dripping in etiquette protocols. The youngling wished someone would hold his hand like that again, tell him he would do well again, make his spark swell up the way it would when he was near the Matrix.

His field flared again, desperate for some form of affection too. The field it managed to touch was cold and judging though, and he tried to pull it in again.

“If Megatron had been such a low caste, why was he able to enter the temple and meet everyone?” His optics were still on his servo, making the priest sigh and begin packing up for the next subject.

“Because, Primeling, Megatron has been breaking the rules. He is bringing attention to those who are better off out of sight and complains of some silly notion of ‘equality’ or something or other. – _he’s an upstart is what he is_ – Anyway, don’t let your field show unless it is someone actually worth being upset over, like a noble or a part of the senate or clergy.”

Orion Pax nodded, but he still didn’t understand why he shouldn’t do such for Megatron, or anyone else, regardless of their standing. For some reason mechs of higher caste were more respectable than most anyone else, and lower caste mechs shouldn’t be seen or even acknowledged. It was something he’d read for vorns, but the Primeling knew he couldn’t never treat a mechanism as if they didn’t matter.

Megatron had been so kind to him and regardless of protocol he would be upset if the other was hurt.

_-and there went his field again._

His instructor sighed, exhausted for the lesson – though he’d really only been berating him for over a joor – and slid him a datapad.

"Just – please try to control your field? I will send for your next tutor.” Orion lit the pad and nodded, dazedly looking over its contents as the priest left. Then he promptly dropped it again.

Orion ducked his helm out into the hall, watching as the priest left at an unhurried pace. At the far end of the hall he turned the corner, and the youngling took his chance and bolted. The way was oddly clear, seeing as he had been receiving lessons and being pulled aside for “explanations” so constantly, but he wasn’t going to complain. The Primeling reached his room without incident and grinned big.

Though his room was small he wouldn’t have it any different. Zeta’s was huge, making his look like a closet, but he wouldn’t know what to do with all the space. All he really needed was the mound of pillows and blankets on his berth. Zeta didn’t have those, he had happily noted, and didn’t give the other’s massive quarters another thought.

Orion Pax moved to a shelf in the far corner, all the shelves packed with pads. But he didn’t want any that were displayed; no, the real prize was _under_ the shelf. Kneeling, he dug his digits under the bottom panel. It pulled away with a groan and a cloud of dust, catching in his vents and forcing him to pause to clear them. Inside lay the Primeling’s most prized possessions; a stack of old datapads, orange and crusty from age and the poor conditions they were housed in. Orion didn’t realize this of course, simply pulling one out and onlining it as he climbed onto the nest of blankets that made up his berth.

The screen was dim, but he could clearly make out the title: _Legends of Prima: Volume 3_. The priests had scowled and muttered at Alpha Trion’s original gift, but he had been overjoyed. After the old mech had left, however, they had taken that first volume on the grounds that he “had no time for false tales”. When he had explained this to Alpha Trion though, not only had he gifted him the rest of the set, but he had pointed out which parts were true and which were, rather clearly, embellished.

Orion navigated to where he had left off and slipped under a blanket. He didn’t take his optics off the pad as he rose to his kneepads and pulled the rest of the pile over himself. The Primeling settled in for his next tutor to call for him, tuning his sensors on the door so he could hide the pad away before they realized just what he was reading. Though he would realize much later that that tutor was never coming.

Truly, the priest had gone to fetch him; but with such a long lesson that cycle, he had missed the first calls of battle. No one left the temple often, but they could claim they were not in the dark. A single terminal, dented and rusted making it stick out like a sore thumb, was brightly lit – not that the mech could really see it with almost the entire temple crowding it.

There was a burst of static, then – “Decepticon forces have received reinforcements from Vos. Our Prime and the Decepticon commander, Megatron, are still locked in combat. Will continue to update as positions change.” Another burst of static, then silence.

“How long has our Prime been fighting?” The new mech asked.

“He’s been pinned against Megatron on the Iacon borders since they first met on the field. The gutter mech is proving difficult to put down.”

“May Primus –”

No burst of static heralded the new transmission, making the entire assembly jump for the sudden noise.

“Zeta Prime has fallen! Repeat: Zeta Prime has fallen! He is currently being evacuated to the nearest secure Autobot facility, the Temple of Primus –”

A few of the group began to pull away, meaning to prepare for their Prime’s arrival. After such a hard fight, there was an endless list of things he would need besides repairs.

“ – It is difficult to tell his condition from my position, but I am receiving reports that he is struggling. Wait – …Yes, I can see the energon from here. _Primus_ -”

Everyone pulled away at once, scrambling off in different directions to prepare. 

They were still hurrying in their thinly veiled panic, no more prepared than when they began, when the great doors suddenly flew apart, admitting Zeta Prime’s great, heaving frame. A few foot soldiers followed, constantly reaching for their Prime should he fall. Zeta batted them away; there was no way they could support his weight, and knelt before he could fall. Once down, however, there was no getting up again and his great weight shook the temple as he dropped forward onto the floor. The clergy swarmed, desperate to repair and save him, despite his weak dismissals.

“Just- just help me to my pedes. That bastard won’t stop until he’s had me himself.” The crowd shuddered at the implications, but no one stopped trying to patch up their Prime; all but a heavy set femme who slipped away and hurried off unnoticed. 

It was clear to her that Zeta Prime would not survive his vast injuries. There was still time yet to evacuate their young, soon-to-be Prime, however.

Orion’s study room was empty when she arrived, so she turned on her heels to his personal quarters. When she arrived there, that appeared empty too. The femme turned out to the hall, gripping the doorframe to steady her trembling servos.

“Orion Pax! Primus, where is that kid; There’s no time for hide and seek.”

A clatter behind her and she started, turning to see the pile of blankets from the berth on the floor. Right at a stiff Orion Pax’s feet.

“You were looking for me, sister?” A servo slipped behind him and tried to subtly adjust the blankets.

“Yes! Quickly, with me.” She didn’t wait for him to come and hurried inside to take him by the wrist. The youngling winced for her strength behind the movement, but didn’t stop the femme from pulling him along. The Primeling was just beginning to question her on it, when a loud sound shook the temple. Both had to stop to try to keep their balance. The femme’s grip instinctively tightened and Orion yiped, instantly trying to pry the other off of his.

They were off again, faster and rougher than before. The Primeling was practically dragged now, barely able to keep his pedes beneath him. He didn’t think he would have the processor power to, with all that was so suddenly happening.

“Why are you doing this? Is-is something wrong?” Orion managed to find his vocalizer, but the femme didn’t respond, didn’t even acknowledge him. They stopped at the end of a hall, too abruptly for him to stop himself from colliding with her leg. There was no time to try to stand and apologize before she bolted down another hall.

“Please! What is going on? I don’t understand why-” The pace, the grip, the sudden frightened field against his; the Primeling didn’t know what to do.

“There is no time for explanations now!” Her glare froze his spark and he felt his optics heat. “Hush! I must think…” They stopped again, the trembling form she held gripping her side to try to stay on his feet. 

“We’ll have to go around the front.” Orion barely caught her muttering. “We’ll be overrun and trapped if we-...” Her pace was faster than before and all Orion Pax could do was hang on and hope she did not damage him. When his struts began to spark against the floor she seemed to relent. The bulky femme lifted the frightened youngling in her arms and charged on.

They were nearing the main entrance at last, but the sounds and the sights and all the activity – Orion curled against the femme, his optics sparking as he clamped his servos over his audio receptors.

“Focus on the Matrix!”

“But what about-?”

“A fruitless effort! Zeta will not survive wounds so severe! Focus on extracting-”

Orion jolted and snapped his helm to the sound of the declaration, optics scorching to the point of shorting fuses.

Beneath the heavy crowd of medics and holy, Zeta Prime lay, chassis heaving and drenched in energon. A deep gash on Zeta’s side, facing the youngling, was half patched and oozing profusely. Orion had seen repaired battle scars and even the slight bubble of energon once when he had slipped and smashed his helm against the marble floor, but this; _this was terrifying_. Orion made to turn away, to shield his optics, when he caught that great mech’s optics. 

Unable to keep her grip on the squirming youngling, Orion Pax clattered to the floor and rushed forward. He felt the heat of the working welders along with overworked vents as he threw all formality to the wind and climbed onto a heavy shoulder. Not that he could have thought to act it when his field was flaring and spark pulsing.

Zeta was slow to fully acknowledge his presence, but he smiled when he saw who was before him. _Such an unfamiliar thing to see on his faceplates…_ and it would be the only time the youngling had ever saw it.

“Ah, our little Primeling has arrived.” Zeta laughed weakly, his entire frame heaving for the strain of it, making several medics snap at him. Zeta did not seem to hear. He seemed to turn inward, thinking on something with all his remaining processor power, then, “Primeling; I wonder if they will continue to call you such when you carry the matrix.”

“I-… I’m not ready,” It took all his strength not to sob, “I haven’t had my final upgrade, I’m not-“

Zeta raised a massive hand and Orion Pax flinched, intake snapping closed with an audible click; but he carefully rested his palm against the youngling’s back plates, going so far as giving a soothing pat and rub.

“Surely.”

Those dim optics flickered once more, then faded entirely. Orion Pax was so focused on the lack of blue light he jumped when Zeta’s servo fell back to his side. He was so large it shook the youngling on him to the point he had to grip the bloody plating to stay put. 

He tried not to acknowledge the sickly grey energon on his servos, or the quickly cooling frame he rested against. There was no time for mourning Zeta.

Those great chest plates snapped apart with ease, sending the mech struggling to open them flying. A bright beam of shimmering blue light shot up, and the Matrix rose from the greying frame.

Orion Pax had always believed the Matrix to be just his size, as he had been personally called to it. He imagined it would be so very small compared to Zeta Prime’s massive frame, but it would fit so perfectly in the palms of his servos. The youngling found he was very wrong when he reached his servos beneath the ancient artifact and took its heavy weight. 

The Matrix recognized the mechling holding it and pulsed in greeting, its field thick with love and joy to be held by its chosen. Orion smiled down at it and returned the greeting with a pulse of his own field. His optics were cooled, his spark calm, and his field was smooth against that of the Matrix.

_I missed you too_

The temple rocked with another explosion, frail mechs losing their balance and falling all around them. The youngling rocked with it, not falling, entire world centered on the artifact in his hands. But he began to notice that he continued to rock, and he was shaken from his thoughts by a pearly femme taking his chin and forcing him to meet her frightened optics.

“-the Matrix! Primeling, listen to me!”

Orion shook his helm free and gripped the Matrix tight. “What?”

“There is no time! You must take the Matrix now!” Orion jolted, snapping the Matrix against his chassis.

“Now? But I-I’m not ready! I haven’t had my final upgrade yet!” Seeing the Matrix tucked against his chassis as it was, he became horribly aware of its size again. He was beginning to feel his optics heat again, but she took his shoulder.

“The Matrix chose you, Orion Pax. It doesn’t matter your build; Primus will know what to do. We need a Prime now, not a Primeling. Without you not only will the temple fall, but all of Cybertron!” She had begun steady and reassuring, but her emotions betrayed her and by the end she was sobbing. Orion turned to the other femmes circling him and Zeta’s fallen frame, spark going cold at their distress.

The Matrix pulsed again, gentle and calming. Orion tried to settle his vents, letting his trembling chassis slide open as a hand pulled his veil away.

That awesome blue light erupted, engulfing him within that gentle field and lifting his frame. His veils fluttered and glittered in the light, making them look like pure starlight. The Matrix drifted closer like on a soft breeze, gently sliding against inner circuitry before sidling up against his spark, feeling that calm presence melt into his own.

The horrible, spark wrenching cries of pain cut through the chaos of the temple like a knife. The edges of the Matrix caught against the edges of his too small chassis, but it continued through it. The youngling’s wails tinged with static as he writhed against the marble floor, servos scrabbling to take it out, to free his plating, to _stop this, please!_ – delicate hands took his and pinned him down against his cries of protest.

Plating burned and those hands tore away, plating _melting_. The gathered holy was suddenly shot back as that small frame seemed to implode.

_**Risen and born anew; rise, Optimus Prime** _

Familiar blue and red plating emerged from the hot steam, an unfamiliarly large chassis huffing to try to cool his still overheated frame. The new Prime rose on shaking struts, struggling a moment before gaining some semblance of balance.

It took a very long click to realize the clergy was _below_ him instead of _above._

A high priest, one of Zeta’s, approached so very slowly. This mech was tall, but he came just to the Prime’s chin now. Who know how tall he had been compared to Zeta. He didn’t get to dwell on the thought when the mech suddenly threw himself at his pedes. There was a clatter, and suddenly the entire hall had done the same.

“No, you can’t, I –” Optimus caught himself, straightening his back strut, “This is not the time. We must protect the temple.” Everyone scattered to obey their new Prime.

The long forgotten console screeched and a new voice cried out, “It’s no use! The Decepticons are closing in on the temple, brace-!” Another cry and the feed cut to static.

Optimus Prime rushed forward, only a single stride needed to reach the great doors when before – _no, enough of that_. Forcing the heavy doors shut, something slammed into it on the other side, and Optimus turned to the clergy behind him.

“If you cannot protect yourself–” _Slam!_ Optimus rocked back – “run! Leave while you still can!”

The majority of high priests and priestesses bolted for the far halls. A few even dropped their weapons in favor of escape.

The rhythm of attacks broke, a pause just enough for the Prime to ground his pedes and ignore the fleeing holy, and the door blew apart entirely. Optimus was flung away, sent skidding across the floor into a group of delicate frames much too eager to catch his heavy bulk.

For the power the door was broke open with, there was a surprising lack of blaster fire. A squadron armed to the teeth followed their leader as Megatron lead the Decepticons, calm and collected, faceplates set in a scowl so unlike – Optimus forced the thought down, far away. Red optics caught the mountain of a grey frame sent into the wall of the far hallway and the warlord surged forward.

Optimus Prime forced himself to his pedes, blocking the other’s sight of the mech and making him stop and actually inspect this new, unknown mech.

“Step aside so I may collect my due.”

“You will not find it there.” A servo rose and rested against his chest plates, where the Matrix purred within him. Realization dawned and everyone stumbled away at the whining charge of the fusion canon. It was abruptly silenced though, as Megatron forced himself to throttle back.

A shot fired regardless.

The weak blast left the smallest scorch mark against the warlord’s plating. He hadn’t even flinched, glancing down at it like it was a stray paint transfer.

Three more shots and the brave priestess collapsed. Optimus snapped his helm to her, spark instantly aching, but no one else moved. Megatron raised a hand before any more of his men could fire.

“Where is the youngling, Orion Pax?”

The group behind the Prime fidgeted and reset their vocalizers to explain, but it was Optimus’ turn to raise a servo.

“Leave.” The servo transformed into a sword.

Megatron just laughed.

“And you do know what happened to the last Prime to demand such of me?”

It took Optimus Prime all his willpower not to turn around.

“The ruthless slagger deserved to die, all the suffering he caused.” Megatron muttered, and he addressed Optimus fully, “And now it is your turn.”

Megatron retracted his sword and closed the distance between them as the new Prime snapped his battle mask and braced himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i decided to split the next chapters, as i dont' think it'll look very good together, so this ones a little short

_Burning white greeted his optics once they flickered online and the Primeling whined and scrambled to turn them off again. The ground beneath him was blessedly cool against his overheated frame, but he didn’t want to think about that now. Didn’t want to think about the giant, gaping hole in his chassis where the Matrix had –_

_On instinct a hand went to his chest plating, but his servo didn’t fall through. Letting his optics come online again, Orion sat up and examined his frame; only to find it was whole and pristine, as if the sister’s had polished him while he was offline._

_Knowing he was unharmed, his optics fell – not to the Temple floor, but to something he had never seen before. Orion watched the tall green strands wave and gently sway, but there was nothing to make them move. There was no breeze, so could these small strings have processors? A brush of a servo, smooth against the youngling’s palm as he looked up and around more. Open sky above, bright and blue over the endless expanse of green._

_Rising, unsteadily at first, Orion Pax got his pedes beneath him. The material tickled his legstruts, as if coaxing his down, to sit and explore them, but he moved on, taking timid steps through them._

_It became clear that he was alone, not a single bot in sight; but at the same time it wasn’t. If he focused and let his field expand, the Primeling could feel another. Calm and love surrounded him like his veils had, there but not heavy or overbearing. Orion followed that feeling, how it grew as he continued in his sedate exploring until the Primeling was certain the mech was close. He found himself dying for answers, someone to ask “what are these under my pedes?”, “how far is the temple?”, “where are the others?”_

_The field became stronger and stronger until –_

__Thonk! __

_Orion stumbled back a step, servo checking that his helm crest hadn’t been bent against the hard surface._

_… but there was nothing in front of him._

_Reaching out, his palm rested against some sort of wall. a wall of a field, as the feeling from before was now projecting something akin to laughter, as if saying_ “Go on, silly youngling, nothing for you this way.” _Orion slid alongside it, hoping to find an opening, but the field under his palm began to prickle, and he pulled away._

_At least that answered that. He really was alone here. The Primeling turned back the way he came, feeling the strength of that add field fade into a passing thought._

_Mind wandering, he began to wonder what Megatron’s field was like. All the priests kept their fields tight against their frames, but he had still felt them often; frustrated, disapproving, impatient. Megatron’s were tucked in, but the big mech seemed so kind – there was no way it could burn against his own the way the others could._

_Orion found where the material had molded to his offline frame and sat, optics idly watching it sway as he wondered if Megatron might know what this stuff was called…_


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a hard time sitting down to actually write, as I've been working on making a comic and I'm taking a few finals rn. please take this and enjoy tho~!

Earth tended to be gritty and uncomfortable for Cybertronians. It might have been easier in the city, but they had to stay with the immovable Ark. Which happened to be the gritty and uncomfortable place to be on earth. There was sand and dust everywhere and few roads besides the highway, which could only smooth trips for so long.

Go out for a quick drive; come back covered in soot and dust with pebbles stuck in your seams.

Recharge for the dark cycle; online with your vents clogged with dust. Although none of the other bots complained of such occurrences… Maybe the CMO was just getting too old for all of this off-worlding they were stuck doing.

It took a long click to online fully, optics flickering to reveal the ugly orange ceiling above him. With a groan, Ratchet dragged himself out of the berth. Trying to stretch the stiffness away filled the air with harsh creaks and snapping cables. If anyone else was nearby they would no doubt be concerned.

At least he could say the berths on earth weren’t any different than on Cybertron. They sure as pit weren’t getting any softer.

Ratchet made his rounds around the med-bay, letting his systems slowly work themselves online as the machinery around him did as well. They could warm up while he fetched his morning ration.

Mechs were starting to return from the night watch and the medic gave them a wide margin. It depended on the mech, but these days when a mech returned in the morning their field was like pure acid. No cons equal useless shift out in the earthen elements.

He watched Sideswipe hold up a hand for his twin as they swapped shifts, only for Sunstreaker to snarl his engine and disappear into the wash racks. Sideswipe shuffled down the hall a little faster. Though he was likely more concerned about being left alone in the hall with his hand up than for the lack of return.

Ratchet turned the corner, regretting it instantly as a faint hum grew to a blaring in his audials. With a dusty huff from his vents, he turned down their sensitivity and continued.

But _Primus_ did he get sick of Jazz in the morning. It didn’t matter when his shift was, he’d always online to the radio and _only_ leave his quarters when it went to commercials. Today he wouldn’t blame him, though, as it was Madonna burning his audials as he passed. Jazz was slowly dropping into a split, arms stretching to one pede, then to the other. Ratchet had a click of wishing he could bend like that again before he forced himself back on course. 

The command center was buzzing with activity when he arrived. He half expected to see Prowl analyzing whatever-the-frag, but instead Optimus was there, slumped over Teletraan. Teletraan was droning on about numerous Decepticon spottings from last month, trying to help the Prime understand any sort of connections and help them gain some sort of edge. Not that unusual, but he didn’t see the commander’s morning ration anywhere.

Ratchet got his energon from the dispenser but set it aside in favor of taking another.

“There is no need, Ratchet.” The medic jumped and spun around to see Prime up, watching him in a distant, dazed sort of fashion. “I have been online for a while now.”

_That explained the look._ Optics narrowed and he set the cube back. This was the third cycle in a row Optimus had been online and refueled before him.

“Define ‘a while’, Prime.” 

The big mech laughed, quiet and anxious, and turned back to the monitors. The medic could see from here he wasn’t actually _looking_ at them.

Before he could snap at him, he heard an oddly misplaced commercial for a car dealership. _Fraggit, Jazz._

The spy hummed a leftover tune as he slipped past the medic that, for some reason, was frowning more than usual.

“Good light cycle, Jazz.” Optimus hummed, and even as Jazz sputtered into his energon Ratchet knew something was very wrong.

“Light cycle-? Prime, you feelin’ okay?” Optimus Prime genuinely laughed this time and Jazz seemed to at least appear to disregard his question as he laughed too.

Ironhide entered the command center grinning ear-to-ear from the display. His vocalizer was tinged with static and his optics were dim; a testament to the long struggle of a mech who had struggled to stay online during the long, uneventful shift.

“I believe I’ve caught Jazz off guard this morning.” Optimus’ wide grin was clear even behind his mask.

“Oh really?” Ironhide chuckled, draining his cube.

“You shoulda’ heard him, ‘hide!” Jazz was still laughing, though it was beginning to die down to giggles now.

“Any Decepticon activity to report, Ironhide?” Optimus Prime asked. The red mech snorted as he set his empty cube aside with the others.

“Of course not. Hasn’t been any Con activity for – what? – two or three weeks now?” Ironhide paused on his way out, smiling past the doorway. “Does that count as my official report, Prime?”

It really didn’t, but Optimus smiled fondly and took a datapad from the stack on the table.

“It can.”

“Thank you, Prime.”

The truckformer’s attention was drawn back to his head of Special Operations. Jazz had finished his cube and left it on the desk as he too, turned to leave, probably to replace Ironhide on patrol.

“Well, if the Cons are planning anything, they better wrap it up soon. Wait much longer and they’re sure to run dry.”

The Prime eyed the other’s cube, the way the last few drops of energon dripped from the corner.

“Run dry…”

His field fluttered and the Prime struggled to compose himself again. Even if the Decepticons were dangerous enemies, a Cybertronian offlining from lack of fuel while they had plenty was…

The Prime took his datapad and left for his quarters.

A gentle servo against his arm reminded him Ratchet was still in the command center, _still suspicious._

“Care to explain why I haven’t seen you recharge or even refuel these past few cycles?”

Optimus’ plating clamped tight against his frame. He struggled not to meet Ratchet’s gaze.

“Are you asking as my friend, or as my medic?”

“I _was_ asking as a friend,” Ratchet snapped, already pulling the bigger bot down the hall, “but it’s clear to me you need me as a medic.”

-0-0-0-0-

Optimus Prime let out a deep exvent as the door to his quarters snapped closed. He was officially off duty until the next Decepticon attack, as per Ratchet’s orders. No work, as to allow his overclocked processor the rest it “so clearly” needed.

Rest, which he would be supplying in the form of earth’s “brain-rotting” video games. Wifi at the _Ark_ was slow and weak, but that was what offline mode was for.

Admiring his tiny farm, it was beginning to grow nicely. Each passing day he was making a nice sum of credits. Along with his near constant scavenging and fishing, it would not be much longer until he had enough to upgrade his house.

Haley’s birthday was coming up and if he upgraded his house in time he could score major friendship points by gifting her a meal. Omelets were good, or maybe he could try making a fruit salad? That would be much harder than an omelet, though.

The guide he was following had eluded to bonding as an option in this game, but it was impossible to decide just who he liked enough to think about asking…

Optimus jumped at the slight, guilty brush of a field and twisted in his chair, vision filled with red plating.

“Ironhide! I didn’t hear you come in.”

The red warrior laughed. “I can tell!” He moved close again, hands gently smoothing tense cables in his shoulders as the Prime turned back to his game. Ironhide did not care much for human entertainment such as this, but Optimus still struggled not to narrate the gameplay for him as the quiet clicks passed.

“Ratch’ says you aren’t feelin’ well…” Ironhide tried.

“Ah, not exactly; I feel fine, it is merely a difficulty defragging.” Optimus felt hands slip and a vocalizer huff as the other shrugged.

“Still, ah can’t help but feel bad about you doing my work for me this mornin’. I didn’t think-”

The Prime slipped a servo over Ironhide’s, smiling over his shoulder.

“It’s nothing to worry yourself over, Ironhide. Truly.”

Those anxious faceplates melted into a smile

Optimus turned back to his game and Ironhide returned to massaging plating. They continued on like this for Primus knows how long, one blazing a trail of fried eggs and bountiful crops while the other worked farther down his Prime’s back plating. Optimus winced and Ironhide took his chance to withdraw from where he had become cramped between mech and chair.

“These plates givin’ ye problems, Prime?”

Optimus shifted, trying to give better access to the stiff plates as he started a new day.

“If you’d like, I can work those kinks; but you’ll have to move.”

Optimus closed his game without a second thought and relocated to the berth. The bare metal didn’t give the best support, even when moving the threadbare pillow under his abdominals. Still, moving it revealed his handheld, so the Prime was perfectly content. The red warrior laughed as the semi got comfortable and settled beside him.

It proved difficult to continue to play as the massage went on. The cables and plating of the Prime’s lower back were tight and tense and even Ironhide winced as he worked them over. Blessed relief came in waves as, one by one, each knot popped and Optimus sagged farther and farther into the non-existent padding.

When the plating finally flexed with ease, Ironhide pulled back; only to smile down at the other mech. Optimus Prime was just barely keeping himself online, optics flickering and the little game was forgotten. He shut it off and put it aside before he quietly left his commander’s quarters.

Left the recharge in peace, there was no way to tell the passage of time until the sound of his door sliding open snapped his helm up. The culprit, Beachcomber, looked just as surprised at the loud noise as he was. His helm hit the berth with an audible clang, giving in to its exhausted weight.

“Real sorry 'bout that, my Prime.” The blue mech whispered as he came to sit beside him. “Just wanted to give you this.”

Optimus struggled to lift his helm but caught the edge of a hoop, strings, and colorful feathers and beads.

“Thought a dream catcher might help you with your recharge cycles.” Beachcomber hung it somewhere above his helm as he continued, “The native Americans gave me one after we saved their camp from the Insecticons. They say the good refluxes – er, dreams – go through the gaps and bad dreams get caught and destroyed with the sunrise. Almost like a net or spiderweb, right, my Prime?”

But Optimus didn’t respond. Somewhere during his explaining, he had drifted off again, lulled offline by that smooth, deep vocalizer. Beachcomber took no offense, of course, and slipped away, mindful of the door this time.

-0-0-0-

_Optimus floated weightlessly, sleeping but thus far not dreaming. He didn’t mind, finding it almost a relief – his processor was too overworked, too exhausted for such simple processes, and needed the blank._

_Drifting lower, his pedes touched something solid, cold, and smooth. Cybertronian?_

_A scene came in view; marble halls, incense burning every few mechanometers, ceilings so high he could comfortably stretch his limbs without hitting anything. A group of mechanisms in various shades of pearl white and soft blue passed, humming and softly singing.  
_ The Temple of Primus. __

_His memory banks only registered a handful of blurry cycles here, the rest left to vague impressions._

_A step forward to follow the procession and Optimus suddenly found himself overwhelmed. Those one soft looking frames clustered tightly against his frame and a cry wrenched itself free from his vocalizer and the sudden hot flash of pain. Not that it was heard over the roar about him._

_Loud protests, priests no longer humming but fully shouting, the occasional explosion that would his audials to burn with white noise as they struggled to recalibrate._

_The frames around grew larger and rougher. All sounds blended together into a terrible symphony, unable to even cover his audials with the way he was being crushed._

_His spark roiled for the strange familiarity of it._

_A hand took his own, blessedly cold against his overheating plating, pulling him free, Optimus collapsed into the arms around him, heaving to settled his systems before they try to shut down. His optics flickered and he tightened his grip._

_A silver chassis, adorned with sharp angles, putting greater emphasis on a purple badge that burned his sensitive optics._

-0-0-0-

Optimus lurched online, snapping battle mask away to better cycle his vents.

There, on the shelf beside his berth, sat a small yet lavishly decorated plate. Its contents, perhaps the last of its kind, burned slowly. A gentle cloud of smoke drifted through the air.

He was struggling to figure out how to properly put it out with the Matrix flaring hotly against his spark.


End file.
